Comment on this
Still Life with Sunflowers
by Cheryl Snell
When I cut elastic from the sunflowers,
the stems, girdle-less now, spread
against the glass-lipped vase, each bloom
lolling like a tourist on a cruise.
You fed me blueberries from a colander,
and I looked over your shoulder at the still life
with nothing still about it—a sprawl of calyx
and corolla, pistils waving, rings of stamens
straining toward the ceiling so close
to a sky full of bees.
When the pollen fell, it dusted the room
with a stain that yellowed the counter.
I never could get that color out,
though I'd easily kissed all the blue
from your fingers.
(first appeared in Snakeskin)